


Rescue Night

by strikeyourcolors



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crushes, Dick Grayson is Nightwing?, Flirting, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd Deserves Better, Kidnapping, M/M, Mild Language, Minor Violence, Rescue Missions, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23122918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strikeyourcolors/pseuds/strikeyourcolors
Summary: (AU) Jason is trying to make a food delivery when he stumbles across a hostage situation. The captors claim he's Nightwing, the guy claims he's just a stripper, and Jason just wants to go home. Unfortunately, it seems he's going to have to launch a rescue operation. The night just keeps going downhill.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Comments: 26
Kudos: 502





	Rescue Night

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate universe, designed to go into a larger series that never came to be so here's the start. There's some violence and blood-talk, but all in all it's a fairly light read. 
> 
> The sequel was called "Date Night" in case anyone wants to know where this was going.

"Look," Jason says. "I'm just here to deliver your Chinese food and get the hell out of your way." He lifts the bag which is, he checked in the car, full of ordered Chinese food and nothing but. One of his girls, and he uses the term loosely because he's only ever had contact with her while pretending to be her pimp to scare away rough johns, had been trying to go straight. Delivering food wasn't a glamorous career but it did pay the bills and, Jason's figured out after a night, the tips can be pretty decent.Until you get sick, with a flu bad enough that there's no way hiding the fact you have the flu, not even for the five minutes it takes for a transaction to happen.

Which was how he ended up filling in for her. He had the night off, and he's painfully aware that she's living hand to mouth and is about to have a second kid to feed. She needs this job, and the owners of the little restaurant don't seem to give a shit who does deliveries as long as they get done. Enter Jason. Jason, who is now staring down the barrel of a gun. That's not exactly uncommon in Crime Alley when you knock on someone's door, but he's in the business district. He'd expected a bunch of blue-collars being forced to work late, probably cracking open a six pack on the job. 

"Get inside," The guy holding the gun orders him, gesturing exactly what direction Jason should go. "You've seen too much." 

"I haven't seen anything!" Jason argues, bristling at the hand on his bicep pulling him into the office building. But, of course, he instantly sees it then. Sees _him_. A guy maybe his age, beaten and bloody on the floor and bound hand and foot with some really impressive looking restraints. "Uh," Jason starts again. "Really, I don't want any trouble. I won't even ask you to tip me." He takes a step back. The man with the gun drags him forward and slams the door behind him. 

Jason works out. More than that, Jason is big. There are at least two bigger guys in the room, and all of them have guns. He knows when he's outmatched. He might have spent his teenage years and above brawling and stealing and all together scraping by no matter how violent or illegal it is, but he's going straight now. He still has a shitty apartment, but no one is selling drugs next door, and he has his own car even if it might not last another thousand (or hundred, honestly) miles. He has a quaint job working for a church, running the office and doing the cleaning (because he's not too proud) and Father Matthew understands Jason's calling to help the people in shittier situations than his own. 

It doesn't mean he's not instantly plotting how to shoot one guy with his own gun, feed the second man his foot, and break the third's skull. He might even have time to untie the guy on the floor before he leaves. "Please help me," The guy on the floor croaks, peering up at him with...with a mask on his face. "They're crazy. They think-" 

"Shut up!" The third guy gives him a brutal kick that makes Jason's ribs ache in sympathy. It's punctuated by his phone ringing, some ridiculous pop song that leaves the second guy with the gun snickering. "Yeah, Boss?" A pause. "No, we didn't get the Bat, but we got his boy." And Jason knows what that means. He's seen Batman enough times because he doesn't frequent the best neighborhoods. He's always tried to run the other way. "Frank's got a gun on the delivery guy, too. Idiot opened the door before we'd cleaned up." 

He better not be the idiot being referred to because Frank most definitely opened the door and escorted Jason inside. He probably wouldn't have even noticed their captive on the floor. The captive who is now very, very still. "I think you maybe killed him," He tells Frank as Frank pats him down. Jason has two knives, because any idiot living where he does wouldn't have less, but not much else on his person. He does flip open his wallet to look at his identification. "Jason Todd. You're not the girl who usually delivers." 

"No shit," Jason replies. 

"She's pretty," Frank continues, pulling Jason's leather jacket off so hard that it nearly dislocates his shoulder. "And she always provides us with...service." The grin on his face is lecherous. 

"Above and beyond," agrees the man not on the phone. 

"She likes you, Mike." Frank waggles his eyebrows at his companion and Jason wants to roll his eyes. Well, that explains where a new rush of cash from the girl had come from. At least she'd spent it on rent. 

"Tie him up," The guy on the phone calls over to them. Okay that is not- actually that is happening. Mike holds the gun on him and Frank ties his wrists in front of him, then goes to work on his ankles. The end of the rope is wrapped around a pillar. Like a dog on a leash, Jason thinks. 

Sitting on the ground affords him a better view of their other captive. His suit is basically in shreds. His face is swelling, but his mask is still on. He's handsome. Jason feels a little traitorous for noticing it. "I'm not Nightwing," He murmurs. "My name is Richie. If you get out of here, tell them." 

"You have the Nightwing suit," Mike points out. "You have the mask. You were out on the street." 

"I told you it's a costume!" Richie exclaims with a surprising amount of passion for someone who has been so brutalized. "I told you...I was just walking home. I thought the outfit made me look cool..." 

"That's a stupid reason to dress like a vigilante in this city," Jason tells him and knows it's not helping the situation but seriously? He's going to spent his night tied up by two bit criminals because some guy decided it would be funny to go around dressed like Nightwing? 

"I know!" Richie half-wails. "I know how stupid it was but I was just off work and I got such a good reaction, I wanted to keep it going." He drags himself up, just a little. His lip is split, but his mouth is normally pretty plush anyway. Pretty jawline. His hair started the night slicked back but now the gel in it is starting to give. 

Mike and Frank are circling the third guy, who still seems to be taking orders via phone. "Why would you wear that to work, either?" Jason asks. He needs to get the lay of the land here. He needs to understand who to side with and how to get out of it. 

Richie sighs. His shoulders slump. "I'm a stripper, okay?" He whispers. "A lot of the regulars at my club have a thing for hero types, right? This is the most money I make all month." Jason's seen a lot weirder stuff go on at strip clubs, so he actually kind of believes him. "Seriously. If I was actually Nightwing do you think I'd still be here tied up like some kinky bondage fantasy?" Which is an even better argument. 

"What are you going to do with me?" Jason asks Mike, since he's the one who has wandered the closest. "To him?"

Mike turns to look at the newly off the phone goon. "Ted?"

Ted is clearly the brains of the operation. Which isn't saying much. "We'll let you go," Ted decides. "Providing you don't go blabbing to anyone and don't give us any trouble while you're here." 

That's actually going to be difficult for Jason to do because he's just trouble no matter where he goes. "And him?"

Ted shrugs. "Boss is coming to collect him in a while. Wants to prove a point to the Batman." 

"You won't prove any point!" Richie interjects. "He doesn't even know me!"

"Then you're an innocent," Mike says and it puts a bitterness in Jason's chest. "He'll still feel like shit when the boss kills you." Talking so easily about this man's life, not even caring if they had the right guy...it isn't fair. Jason's life in general hasn't been fair but at least he's never been about to be killed from a case of mistaken identity. Only for being a little shit, and he somehow got out of those scrapes. 

"You know, I hear Batman doesn't have a great sense of humor," Jason comments. He sees Richie's mouth twitch, but decides it's in a wince. "You really want Batman coming down like the hand of God on you because your boss offed some kid who had nothing to do with him?" Jason would fight anyone who called him a kid at this age, but the more severe he can make the circumstances for killing Richie look, the better. "Shouldn't there be some test to make sure it's him?"

Mike frowns. Frank scratches his head. Good. Confusion and dissension are what Jason is after. He's distracted as Richie groans, eyes shutting a moment. "He's bleeding pretty badly. You might want to take a look at that if you want him alive even for your boss to get here." 

Ted throws a towel at him. It lands on his face, and Jason tries not to inhale because he doesn't know where it's been. "You take care of it, if you're so mouthy. Give you something better to do than talking." 

Which, okay, this isn't how Jason wanted things to happen. HE wanted one of the goons to have to take care of Richie and maybe form some kind of human connection with him. As it is, Jason wasn't lying about Richie bleeding a lot. He has to scoot over to him on his feet and his butt, with everything tied together, but Jason is surprisingly agile. Years of being skinny enough to work it and having the need to wriggle into tight places have taught him a thing or two. But then he's left frowning at their captive, while the other men take up chairs around what seems to be a card table. "Where are you hurt?"

"Everywhere," Richie replies with a dramatic sigh that then causes him to start coughing. Cracked rib, at the very least. It teaches him a lesson better than Jason could. "My leg. Got shot I think." He sounds a little hysterical. "Oh God, I got shot!" 

"Yeah, but in the leg. That's good if you have to get shot," Jason reassures him. Mostly because he can tie the towel around it instead of just basically using it to mop up the blood like he would have to for a torso wound. The leg might get infected, and the bullet might have hit bone and caused some damage, but he'll take that any day over a gut wound that may or may not have hit internal organs. "Can you bend your legs a little?" He asks. "I know you're basically mummified from shin to toe but..." He cuts himself off as Richie rolls over and spreads his thighs. To an almost unnatural angle. It makes the suit he's wearing tear a little more, but it is really practical for what Jason needs to do. "Good," He praises. "I'm just going to tie this towel around your leg to stop the bleeding." 

Richie whines. Honestly whines, like a dog. "Will there be much pain?" He asks, his voice so breathy that Jason is mostly sure he's acting like this just to be a dick. 

"There, uh, shouldn't be?" Jason offers, then grimaces. "No, I'm lying. It's going to hurt. Don't kick me or snap your legs closed on my wrists or anything." Which sounds way dirtier out of context but he plows ahead. The towel isn't hard to fold with his hands bound, but maneuvering it around Richie's leg proves to be interesting. Jason tries to go for the tail end of it with his mouth a couple of times before realizing that's going to put his face very, very near the other man's groin. 

He gathers a few tidbits of information through the process of trial and error towel-bandaging while tied up. Richie is in excellent shape. Jason can feel the bulge and coil of taut muscle all over his body, and he can see it through the tatters of his clothes. Richie is also mouthy, which he appreciates even if it's not his personal style of mouthy. Even when he's begging to be let go, even when his voice sounds like it's in the depth of despair, Richie's face is free of tears. His breathing doesn't change. He's a really, really good liar, but Jason knows liars. More information is gathered about their temporary captors. "I think they are going to try to hand me over to the Penguin," Richie tells him. "I've seen him shoot people with his umbrella." 

Jason contemplates this. "I thought the Penguin had girls," He offers. "Like, really hot girls who work for him?" Because that's all he's ever seen him with, the few times he was running errands for some low-grade criminal about to be absorbed in another group. A lot has apparently changed since he was in that life. "But he's a smart guy too, right? He'll see you're not the real deal." He's not sure what happens after that part, though. 

He's also not sure what Richie is. He can see the scars across his torso when his clothing finally gives up the ghost and peels off nearly down to his waist. Professional strippers are probably in good physical condition, true, but not that good. Jason knows about rough childhoods as well, but there's something a little off about the scars. He says nothing to the three men, who are eating their Chinese food and discussing what they are going to do when they get paid. 

"I have a friend," Richie says. "His name's Matches Malone." Jason knows the name, but it doesn't really make him think of much. "If...if this goes badly can you tell him what happened? I hate to get you involved but..." A swallow follows. "He'll worry about me." 

Jason really doesn't want to get involved either, and he especially doesn't want to tell someone that his friend (or lover, or relative, whatever. He's not asking) is dead. Still, he figures he can drop off a card or something. "Okay," He agrees. "Not sure how anyone could recognize you though. You're a mess." 

Which, naturally, is when a bottle of water comes sailing at his head. Ted smirks at him. The brains of the operation also likes throwing shit. Great. "Clean him up. If you earn your keep you might buy your freedom." Which is probably as good of an offer as he's going to get and isn't that incredibly depressing? "Don't want him hiding behind all that blood." 

Jason uses a strip of fabric from Richie's outfit, which is a little morbid but it works. He has to soak the fabric numerous times to get it wet enough, but then he dabs it at Richie's face. He's careful, but it's still going to hurt for him to get enough pressure to wipe the blood clean. "I think your cheekbone is fractured," He says quietly. 

"Feels like it is," Richie mutters back unhappily. He hisses and jerks away from Jason's bound hands a few times, but he complains remarkably little for how whiny he seems in general. His voice drops lower. "You know they aren't going to let you go, right? They'll kill you." 

That's kind of been his suspicion, but Jason's also thought he has about a fifty-fifty shot of survival with Penguin's gang and less of one with Richie. "So what am I supposed to do?" Jason asks. He shifts, swinging his legs to his other side so he can rest on his left hip instead of his right. His ass is going numb. 

"I have a blade at the small of my back," Richie murmurs, his lips barely moving. He hisses in pain, real or faked Jason doesn't know, rolling like he can't get comfortable. He probably can't, actually. Jason is having a hard time and he's not bound nearly as tightly as Richie is. "If you can just get it out for me. Cut through the stuff at my arms...I'll do the rest." 

It's a risky plan. A very risky plan. Richie, at least, they need alive until their boss gets here. Jason knows they can just kill him at any time, and they probably will if he proves to be a problem

Ultimately, Jason knows he doesn't really have a lot of options. Right now there are two: help Richie or don't help Richie. But that's going to spiral into more options, and more consequences. Positive and negative. He helps Richie, Richie gets loose, they run for it and live. Jason gets to walk away with a pat on the back and a good deed done and hope that the thugs don't remember where he lives. Or Richie gets loose, the thugs kill him, and that's that. Or he simply doesn't help him at all, which also could kill him or could set him free. 

There must be smarter people in the world who can see all the outcomes at once. Jason finds it overwhelming. Richie continues to squirm like a fish, as though Jason simply can't reach the blade he claims to have instead of like Jason's hesitating to help him. 

"Hey," Jason calls out to their captors. "You think we could negotiate for an early release or something? I need to keep this delivery job and they are going to notice I'm gone." Which is sort of a lie. Sort of really a lie because this isn't his job and the owners of the restaurant will just assume he skipped out on them. 

"Shut up and finish your job!" Ted yells. "Unless you want something stuffed in your mouth? We just need you cleaning him up." 

So that pretty much kills any chances of negotiation he had. He's pretty sure Richie looks smug, but maybe he's just attributing his own emotions on the other man. Richie wiggles closer with a pained sound, but it gets the job done. Jason leans in like he's examining his side for wounds, and his fingers touch the small of Richie's back. Sure enough, there's what feels like a handle there. Jason's willing to bet that it's a switchblade. It's small enough to fit out a hole in the shredded costume, at the least, and Jason tries to do that as quickly as possible, hunching his body to conceal his motive. 

The men aren't watching them. That's good. Jason gets the knife out and, yet, button activated switchblade. It's wickedly sharp, but there are so many layers of bondage on Richie that Jason isn't sure where to start. "Give it to me," Richie whispers, fingers groping blindly. "If you're going to just stand there."

"Sit here," Jason counters bitterly. He wants to warn him that he might stab him. The knife might go right through the bindings and into flesh. But they can't squabble about this, not when at any moment someone might come over and ask what they are doing. He goes in blind, with just a quick glance to confirm. The place near Richie's elbows seems to have the most slack and the knife is surprisingly good at cutting through everything. 

It's harder keeping it quiet. He feels like every scrape of the knife, every peel of the tape, is noticeable. His every motion is incriminating. He's going to get shot, and it's not going to be in the leg. He feels it in his bones. But the more Jason thinks about it, the angrier he gets. This is his reward for trying to help someone out? He runs his ass off on his rare day of freedom and gets held hostage and possibly murdered? By these idiots? Shit sucks, and it sucks hard. He hauls the knife through the last of the tape and Richie hisses. Jason knows he hit skin only because of the sudden spill of blood against his fingers; otherwise Richie doesn't make any noise and Jason's pretty sure he would be yowling like a scalded cat had anyone cut that deep on him. 

Who is this guy? He's pretty, toned, kind of goofy, and apparently he can take a lot of damage. 

But the Nightwing suit wouldn't be so flimsy and the man inside it so careless, right? 

Jason doesn't apologize for the cut, both because he thinks their captors might hear him and because he's kind of bitter at Richie for getting into this situation in the first place. Richie's fingers wiggle for the hold of the knife. Apparently he plans to cut his own legs free but Jason pulls back slightly. He's getting his hands loose first. Then his legs. Then he'll worry about Richie's idiotic plan. 

“I can help,” Richie hisses. “Just let me have...” Mike's gaze wanders over to him. “Just let me go! I'll help you!” Richie cries out. “Please! I'll give your boss a real good show. I'll do anything! Just don't let him kill me.” 

It works. Mike rolls his eyes in disgust. Jason is pretty close except that Richie has used the distraction to get the knife from him. But, true to his word, he's cutting Jason free first. Without any flesh wounds, which is a bit impressive considering the position they are both in. Richie apparently is very good with his fingers without looking to see what he's going. 

Jason resists the urge to scratch at his wrists, or even rub them to restore circulation in his fingers. This is the most critical time. This is the part where things could go terribly wrong...well that and the part when they actually choose to run. A choice they have to make soon, because Jason can hear the sound of car doors outside. 

Richie slices through the rope around Jason's ankles and bends, nearly in half, to start getting through his own bonds. Jason tries to help as much as he can, pushing away sticky remnants as he starts to peel away. “Go, go go,” Jason whispers, unable to drop himself. His heart is pounding and he's pretty sure he's going to throw up. Their captors are trying to clean up the table as quickly as possible without ruining their food. 

“I know,” Richie replies. “I know. Just wait for my signal, okay? Don't run off like a chicken with your head cut off or you'll kill us both.” Which is a far cry from Richie sniveling and begging for his life but Jason doesn't have a plan. He thinks of the church. Father Matthew probably wouldn't appreciate his first thoughts being violence but he also hasn't been in as many fist fights as Jason has been where someone pulled a gun. 

The last of the tape falls away. Jason stays still, arms and ankles will together like he's bound up as the door slides open. It is the Penguin. Short and round and Jason thinks he looks pretty harmless but he also knows he was entire willing to shoot him and certainly has plans to shoot Richie. 

“Just like we said, Boss,” Ted announces. “The Nightwing.” He looks so proud. He has a piece of mu-shu pork on his shirt and it irrationally annoys Jason more than it really should. 

“Please,” Richie says softly, acting like he's trouble getting up to his elbows. “I'm just a stripper in a costume! They won't let me explain. You see my club was having a heroes and villains night and-” 

He's cut off by the clucking of Penguin's tongue. “Please do not insult me,” He says simply. “We've tangled quite enough when you were barely hatched out of your egg. I know your voice, Robin, and I know your face.” 

Richie springs into action. Literally springs, off his hands. Jason's mouth falls open as Richie twists and kicks Penguin straight in the jaw. He grabs Ted's arm and swings him around, knocking Mike and Frank both to the ground and then flips the table on top of them. “Let's go!” He grips Jason's wrist, yanking him to his feet, stumbling only a little when he puts weight on his injured leg. Jason can actually see the blood spray out of the wound where the towel has come loose. Richie must be high on adrenaline to not feel it. 

Still, he's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Or take the plan of a crazed stripper for granted. Jason runs with him, toward the back of the warehouse, letting Richie shut and lock the door while Jason pushes a heavy crate to block the way. Richie seems to know the layout pretty well. A door to the left, one to the right, and then they are back in the thick and polluted Gotham air. “I think,” Richie says. “That I can't run. You should go on without me.” 

Richie really doesn't look good, it's true. Jason knows when someone's lost too much blood and been hit too hard and Richie is well past that point. “You're a really noble stripper,” Jason comments. “But you're coming with me. No man left behind.” 

“Not actually a stripper,” Richie murmurs as he lets Jason throw his arms around his shoulders and lift him onto his back. 

“Yeah,” Jason says. “I kinda figured that one out.” He grunts with the effort of carrying the extra weight. Richie isn't as heavy as Jason himself, but that doesn't make him light. He really would have better chances of getting away if he could run for it himself, because he still has great instincts for that, but he can't find it in his heart to dump Richie. It's weird. Jason isn't usually so altruistic. “Don't you have someone to call for help?”

He's puffing for air by the time he hits the next block over, running through alleys. His knees ache and his back is cramping and his neck is itching where Richie is breathing against him. Still, he runs, because the thugs are no doubt not far behind them. 

He nearly screams when someone is suddenly blocking his path. Jason grabs the lid off the trashcan, hurling it toward the figure before realizing that it's Batman and oh shit he just tried to brain Batman. Most of Jason's focus goes to not wetting his pants, and to trying to keep Richie steady on his back because he's still not entirely sure what's going on. 

“Hey,” Richie slurs at Batman. “I fucked up.” 

Jason's mouth is wide open. He feels like his eyes might pop out of his skull. Richie slides off his back, grimacing and nearly going down. Jason reaches out to help steady him and Richie, no, _Nightwing_ gives him an appreciative glance. Batman stands there, immobile after swatting the trash can lid away from him. He's silent, too. It's creepy. 

“Condition?” He asks at last. The voice is rough and almost a grown and it automatically sets Jason's teeth on age. 

“Not compromised,” he answers. “Shot. Might've nicked something because it's bleeding a lot. Had a blade on me and Jason here helped me get out.” The smile he gives Jason is probably supposed to be reassuring. It looks ghoulish with how pale Nightwing's tan complexion has gone and _fucking damn it_ the thugs were right and they really had Nightwing and...

“They know who I am,” Jason says, and he's pretty irate. “They took my ID. They know who I am! Where I live!” Not that his shithole apartment has much worth stealing but it's _his_. “They're going to be pissed I helped you!”

Nightwing looks like that statement has wounded him more than a bullet to the thigh. “If you knew you wouldn't have helped me?”

He's handsome. Fuck, he's attractive. It makes Jason even angrier. He realizes he's basically hissing when he breathes. “I may have,” Jason snarls. “But I would have liked to know.” 

They stand in silence a moment longer before Nightwing starts limping over to Batman. Good riddance, as far as Jason's concerned. He's wondering how far he's going to have to run and for how long. 

“I'll get them off the street,” Nightwing promises. “It might be a little dicey for a month or two but it should blow over. Do you have anywhere you can go? Take a vacation to-” Batman clears his throat. His protege stops short. Apparently he's just realized that a substitute delivery guy in this area might not exactly have the disposable income to make himself disappear on a luxury vacation. “He probably saved my life,” the younger man adds, turning his face back toward Batman. “He saved my identity, too. I think he just wanted to help.”

“I'm right here!” Jason calls out. “Just...you know what? No good deed goes unpunished. I'm going home, and I'm packing a bag, and I'm getting a gun.” Maybe he can stay at the church and they'll have more trouble finding him there. “Might want to get some attention for that leg before it rots off.” Or he bleeds out. Not that Jason should care; helping Nightwing has essentially ruined his life. 

He turns to go back the way he came, because he knows a few shortcuts and surely Batman wouldn't let him get killed on the way home for doing him a solid. He can hear some kind of whispering but he keeps going. It's the closest to a dramatic storm off he can get. 

He doesn't get far. It's Batman, not Nightwing, who catches up first. A large, gloved hand rests on his shoulder. The dark haired man is limping behind him and he really looks like he should be sitting down. “He has an offer to make you,” Nightwing says, gesturing to the Bat. “And I hope you'll accept.” 

What does he have to lose? “First,” Jason says. “You need to make sure he sits down and puts on a blanket and gets his leg set up with a pressure bandage. Then?” He lifts his head, cocky and defiant even in the face of Gotham's most well-known vigilante. “I'm listening.”

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews, comments, and prompts much appreciated and loved! Thanks for reading <3


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